


Fiat Justitia

by Selena



Category: 18th Century CE Frederician RPF, 18th Century CE RPF
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe, Brother Feels, Brother-Sister Relationships, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Justice, Katte Lives, Misses Clause Challenge, Multi, POV Female Character, Survivor Guilt, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21615796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena/pseuds/Selena
Summary: August 1730:  Crown Prince Friedrich attempts to flee his abusive father and dies. His lover, Hans Hermann von Katte, escapes with Friedrich's sister Wilhelmine.  Come what may, Wilhelmine is determined to avenge her brother...
Relationships: Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great & Wilhelmine von Preußen | Wilhelmine of Prussia, Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great/Hans Hermann von Katte, Hans Herrmann Von Katte & Wilhelmine von Preußen | Wilhelmine of Prussia, Wilhelmine von Preußen | Wilhelmine of Prussia & Maria Theresia | Maria Theresa of Austria, Wilhelmine von Preußen | Wilhelmine of Prussia (1709-1758) & Friedrich Wilhelm I von Preußen, Wilhelmine von Preußen | Wilhelmine of Prussia (1709-1758) & Sophia Dorothea of Hanover
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Fiat Justitia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raspberryhunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/gifts).



> **Thanks to** : my wonderful beta Kathyh. 
> 
> **Warnings** : for the very premise of this AU - i.e. Fritz dies, Katte lives -, and the historical abusive backstory of both Wilhelmine and her brother.

I.

"You must come with me. He is dead," her brother's lover told her, and her old life ended.

There were people dancing all around them, music and splendor, as there could only be when her father the King was nowhere near. The dining hall of her mother's palace was filled with lanterns, and the tables had been decorated to resemble a bed of flowers. There were presents waiting for the guests under every plate. Wilhelmine, who hadn't danced in years, had been determined to dance today, worries and concerns be damned. The August heat was sweltering, but she remained on the dance floor until the man taking her hands turned out to be Hans Herrmann von Katte, Lieutenant of the Regiment _Gens d'Armes_ , and for the last two years the man her brother cared for most in the world.

"He is dead," Katte said his low voice, sounding almost strangled. She did not like him, didn't trust him, and yet Wilhelmine did not, not even for a moment, consider he might be lying to her. Not about this. There was black emptiness in his eyes, and her world splintered around her.

"But... " she began stupidly, not knowing what she wanted to say, turning her head towards her mother, who stood not far away from the dancers, with one of her ladies whispering into her ears. Her mother's face turned white. Wilhelmine took a step in her direction. Then the Queen screamed. Screamed once, an unearthly yell, and then she cried, looking directly at Wilhelmine: "It should have been you!"

Katte still held one of her hands, and now he took her arm. "Come with me," he repeated.

 _It should, it should, it should_ , and fleeing from that cry, Wilhelmine ran.

* * *

II.

There were a lot of coaches in the courtyard of Monbijou because of the ball. The one Katte took must have belonged to someone else. He paid the servant off and went on the coachman's seat himself while she climbed inside. She felt like an automaton, her hands and legs being moved by someone else's will, not hers. There were fragments from Katte's explanation she'd understood; Fritz had tried to flee after all during the royal progress, near Mannheim, had been caught; when they brought him before their father, the King had run him through with a sword before General Mosel could stop him. There were orders for Katte's arrest, but the officer in charge had warned him.

Dead. The worst thing was that something in her was not surprised. If Katte had told her: he escaped, he's free, and far away from here - that, Wilhelmine would have had trouble believing. Would have suspected of being a cunning lie, some ploy, for some unfathomable reason. But not this.

Her father the King had never been an easy man, and his hand had rested heavy on his family, always. But in the last few years, he had not managed to get through a single conversation with her brother without it ending in abuse, and her own encounters with him did not go much better. Her one advantage was that as a daughter, she was more in her mother's company. Her brother had had no such reprieve.

_I can't bear it any longer. Stop crying. I must think of myself._

_But if you leave, I will not see you again._

_Am I to stay then till he kills me?_

They hadn't parted in peace. An argument, some hasty reconciliation, an embrace, and Fritz whispering "I _will_ see you again", which could mean that he'd changed his mind about fleeing, or that he still wanted to flee yet hoped they would meet again regardless.

Dead.

 _Cretin, villain, worthless, an offense to God,_ her father screamed in her mind, and then her mother: _It should have been you._

At some point, Katte stopped the coach, dragged her out of it, and threw a uniform at her. It had been early afternoon when he'd first approached her at the ball; now it was sunset. She had not noticed any passing time, for time had stopped when he'd said "dead" in Monbijou.

"You must change before we enter an inn," he said. "Your Highness. We're still in Prussia, and we will be for a while. They won't notice two officers, though. They'll be looking for a lady and a man."

Sluggishly, her mind emerged enough from her despair to let her say: "I do not care. Let them kill me as well. Why did you - why didn't you leave me in Monbijou?"

"Because," Katte said, and the sinking sun made his pockmarked face and dark eyebrows look even more pronounced, "I promised your brother. That is the true reason why I have remained in Berlin. If anything happened to him before he was safe, I was to ensure your safety by all means. He was sure the King would shut you away somewhere otherwise. After what happened, I'm not sure the King would not do worse."

"Would it be worse?" she demanded, staring at him. "Tell me, Lieutenant, why I should live now? What is my reason? When Fritz is..."

She couldn't say it, so instead, she felt a vicious urge to hurt. She was, after all, her parents' daughter.

"What is your _reason_?" she hissed. There he was, alive, Katte, whom Fritz had praised and talked and dreamed about, and these last months had shared secrets with he no longer shared with her.

"I would have died for him with joy in my heart," Katte said simply. "If he could have lived. And now you are all that is left of him, Princess, so be sure I _will_ save you, despite yourself. "

Only a year ago, Wilhelmine had caught smallpox. Had been shut in her rooms, for fear she would infect the rest of her family, her younger siblings, or her parents, until the sickness had broken. Fritz, who had lived through smallpox as a child, had stolen into her rooms regardless.

 _Don't die_ , he said, holding her swollen hands, _don't ever die. Promise. Never ever die._

_I shall be immortal, then, my brother. But only if you swear the same._

Wilhelmine looked at the uniform. It was too small to be another one of Katte's, who was a good deal taller than she was.

"Is that..."

"I kept the money we'd saved, the jewels, and yes, some inconspicuous clothing," Katte said. "He wasn't supposed to leave without me."

His voice was angry now, and absurdly, this made her feel closer to him than his promise to save her life had done. Silently, she took the uniform, the male wig that went with it, and climbed back into the coach to change.

* * *

III.

Wilhelmine was twenty one years old. Since she was six months old, her mother had raised her to be the future Queen of England. It was her mother's obsession, this: her mother, Sophia Dorothea of Hannover, who was both daughter and sister to English Kings, and wanted to see both her oldest children married to their British cousins. Sometimes it had seemed that if Sophia Dorothea could have erased all that was Prussian, was their father in Wilhelmine and Fritz, she would have.

Her father, of course, had first disliked and then actively fought that plan. It had been one of many battle lines in the eternal war that had been her childhood and youth. Every time she'd refused one of the suitors he had wanted for her instead, he'd despised her a little more. Fritz listening to their mother and holding out for an English princess had caused almost as much rage as Fritz loving books, or music, or really anything that was not the army or their father.

When Katte told her they were heading towards the Netherlands, she therefore said: "No. We must go to Hannover."

"You cannot still believe they'll see you as their future Queen there," Katte said, almost gently. It was true. Their Hanoverian uncle on the English throne had lost interest in matching her to his son quite a while ago, though his ambassador still held out one of her cousins as a bride for Fritz. Who was, after all, the future King. Had held her out. No more.

 _This is the only princess I will ever love_ , her brother had told her, one precious stolen day, indicating his flute, naming it "Principessa".

 _Well, then this shall be your only rival!"_ she'd replied, christening her lute "Principe".

"No," Wilhelmine said now, "I do not believe that. But they will see me as their ruler's niece. I will find shelter there. You, of course, may go where you please."  
He sighed. "Well, it is closer, and it's true, they will most likely provide for you. Hannover it shall be."

If someone had told her a few days ago she would, dessed as a man, be sharing a room with the dubious scion of a minor Prussian noble, in an inn full of people who stank of beer and tobacco, she would have considered them insane. As it was, he remained on the floor, though neither of them actually slept. She could hear his uneven breath. She'd expected to cry, to be unable to stop crying, but still the tears would not come.

The uniform she wore did not smell of her brother. So there was not even his scent left.

* * *

IV.

Katte had cousins in England, too, but Wilhelmine still told him they needed to separate before she could present herself at the Hannover court.

"I am aware you are not fond of me, Princess, but..."

"That is not the point." She took a breath. Her mind was clearer now, though her heart still felt frozen. "My grandmother - my mother's mother - left family and husband with her lover. They caught her, and she remained imprisoned for the rest of her life, well nigh thirty years. My mother told me. What do you think they'll say of me if I arrive in the company of a man not my husband, with no female companion?"

His look was almost pitying. "You have a point, but they will say that anyway, I'm afraid. Once news reaches Hannover we have left Monbijou together. We really should head towards the Netherlands at the earliest opportunity."

A ruined reputation should not matter to her now, save in practical terms in what it meant for her liberty, for what was that when compared to a dead brother and a murderous father? And yet it did. It irked her, the idea that she should be regarded as her grandmother had been. Running away with a lover. _The worst kind of woman_ , her mother said in Wilhelmine's mind. _Betraying her station and responsibilities. Leaving her children, for a low-born man. I shall never forgive her. Never._

"They will certainly believe it if you still dare to display those portraits you have no right to own," Wilhelmine said angrily. "Give them to me, now."

Just a few weeks earlier, shortly after her brother had departed for the German South with their father, rumour had reached Wilhelmine that Lieutenant Katte owned a double portrait of them, Fritz and herself, carrying it with him as a sign of royal favor. It had outraged her, not least because Fritz must have given it to him. She'd asked her former governess to demand it back from him, and he'd refused. The last time she'd seen Katte before he'd come for her had been at a concert in Monbijou. She'd asked for the double portrait then, again, and he'd refused then as well, politely, but firmly, claiming it was his own work, not the original; that he'd painted the pastels himself, copying them from the miniatures Fritz possessed.

This time, there was no politeness in his refusal. It was as if at last the wall of respect and restraint he'd shown in her company burst.

"You will not take those portraits," he said harshly, and took her by the shoulders. "Don't you understand, he's gone, I will never see him again, or touch him, or hear his voice! Isn't anyone in your family capable of feeling the slightest sense of pity for anyone but yourselves?"

She did not move. It wasn't that she was afraid of him. The first of her governesses used to shake her, pinch her, and eventually beat her, hard enough that her brother's nurse told her mother that if Mademoiselle Leti was not replaced as Wilhelmine's governess, the princess might end up crippled for life. Leti had left, for Hannover, come to think of it, but an enduring legacy of hers was that Wilhelmine had become good at remaining still whenever someone shook her, having learned it would be over faster if you did not try to pull yourself away. It had been years and years since Leti had gone, but those instincts, it appeared, were still there.

"You are alive, Lieutenant," Wilhelmine said. "They called you a worldly man in Berlin. You have loved before. You will again. I cannot have another brother. Why should I pity you?"

He did not say that she had other brothers, and sisters, too. Not that she was likely to see them again, not now, and not for a good while. At any rate, they were children, little strangers in the nursery, or awkward youths. She and Fritz were the oldest, keeping to themselves. Had been the oldest.

"You are a child. A jealous child," Katte muttered, letting her go, and did not speak to her again until they reached Hannover. He left her and the stolen coach in the courtyard of the residence then, without another look.

* * *

V.

Wilhelmine's uncle, King George II and his oldest son, the Prince of Wales whom Wilhelmine had been supposed to marry once upon a time, had last been in Hannover a year ago, but two of George's younger children were still residing at Hannover with their household. More to the point, so did the former British ambassador to the Prussian court, who recognized her at once, confirmed her identity, and did his best to bid her welcome.

He also told her that news of her brother's death was spreading through the German speaking realms and from there throughout all of Europe like wildfire. From what he'd learned, her brother had attempted his flight near Mannheim, but had not managed to get far. His page, afraid of the King's punishment, had revealed all to Wilhelmine's father. As Fritz had written to Katte, but had forgotten to specify the Lieutenant's first name, the letter had ended up with a cousin of his serving in another regiment, and that cousin, too, had alerted his superior of the crown prince's plan. Which meant orders were out for Katte's arrest.

"They said the Lieutenant left with you, Your Highness."

"He told me of my brother's death. I have not seen him since," Wilhelmine stated, without blinking. She had learned how to be a good liar early on.

The Hannover cousins were tearful, despite never having met her brother ; their stewards and chamberlains, it quickly transpired, were also somewhat embarrassed by Wilhelmine's presence. The King of Prussia having murdered his son in a fit of rage was a horrible, shocking event, to be sure. But his son had been attempting to desert the army, whose head the King was. More to the point, no one was yet sure as to what position King George would take. The last time a monarch had killed his own son was not that long ago. It had been Peter, Czar of Russia, whom Wilhelmine had met as a child when Peter was travelling through Europe. Everyone had been shocked then, too, but other than gossiping, no one had done anything about it. Russia was far away.

Prussia was not. And if Friedrich Wilhelm should demand his oldest daughter be returned to him, he would, as her father, be well within his right to do so. If, that was, King George did not decide that his brother-in-law had lost all reason and thus paternal rights.

"It might be best if you travelled to England right way," the former ambassador said, "and made your case in person, Your Highness. Even if his grace the King should... waver...while pondering his decision, the sheer geographical distance would offer safety to you."

He meant well. He'd been her mother's ally for years before being replaced, and had sometimes provided Fritz and herself with books, or Händel scores. But she did not feel reassured. What was working through her frozen heart, Wilhelmine discovered, was rage.

"And what would it offer to my brother?" she asked.

"Your brother is dead, Princess," the former ambassador said gently, clearly wondering whether she was beginning to lose her mind to grief.

  
"He still deserves justice," Wilhelmine said. "At least that. Even a simpleton slain on the streets by robbers would have a claim to this much, and your master's nephew, the Crown Prince of Prussia, does not?"

  
"I am sorry, your highness. But this much I can already tell you: the King will not go to war with Prussia for a dead nephew."

The kingdom of England had colonies in the Americas, armies on both sides of the Atlantic. It was wealthy and powerful. Prussia had been turned from an impoverished, tiny principality into a kingdom with a well filled treasury and an army consisting of a third of that kingdom's population by her father, but it still did not in any way compare in power. Which had been one of the reasons why her mother had resented her fate as Queen in Prussia so much. Yet England would do nothing. Could not be bothered.

"I see," Wilhelmine said, and rose, signalling that she did not want to talk any longer. As soon as the former ambassador had left, she ran to the next window and threw up. Even afterwards, the bile in her did not lessen.

  
She wouldn't accept it. She could not let it go. Fritz was dead, and this was to have no more consequence than if her father in his rage had taken the stick he was always carrying to a dog, beating that dog to death?

  
_But that is how he has treated us these last few years_ , Wilhelmine thought. _Dogs, to be beaten, until they finally fawn at his feet again._

But dogs could bite. In her mind, an idea began to take shape.

* * *

VI.

„How did you find me?“ Katte asked. He was nursing a drink, not his first; she could smell it on him.

„I asked my cousin’s steward for the most disreputable tavern in town,“ Wilhelmine replied tartly. He laughed, without looking the slightest bit amused.

„And how did you know I was still in town, Your Highness?“

She swallowed. This was not easy to admit. „Because I‘m not yet safe. And you said you did promise my brother.“

„You‘re certainly not safe in that uniform,“ Katte said, indicating the one she wore, for she knew better than to come to such a place as a woman. „They don‘t like the Prussians here. Come on.“

He was in civilian clothing, which she‘d never seen him wearing before. Not that she‘d seen him all that often. _This is Lieutenant Katte_ , Fritz had said, _my new friend_ , Katte had smiled, with some secret amusement, and the very intimacy of that smile had set her teeth on edge.

When they had sat down in the darkest corner of the inn, she told him what she wanted to do. It was, she knew, quite mad. But sanity had not succeeded in getting her anywhere so far.

Her mother‘s worst enemies at the Prussian court were her father‘s cabinet minister Grumbkow and his friend, the Austrian ambasssador Seckendorff. Throughout Wilhelmine‘s entire life, they‘d fought the English alliance her mother championed, and it wasn‘t hard to guess why. Seckendorff’s master, the Emperor in Vienna, feared to become irrelevant in an Empire where the Prince Elector of Hannover was simultaneously King of England. In recent years, Seckendorff and Grumbkow had been winning, for her father considered himself the Emperor’s loyal ally and subject, and he liked his brother-in-law of England less and less. Fritz and Wilhelmine considered the Holy Roman Empire an antiquated mummery. It seemed absurd that their father, who prided himself so much on being a most Protestant King, should favour a Catholic Habsburg in Vienna over his Protestant brother-in-law in Hannover and England, just because that Habsburg was, nominally, his liege lord. Siding with their mother in this matter had never been much of a question.

But the fact of the matter was that in terms of rank, the Emperor took precedence over any other prince and king in Europe. He was the one person other than God to whom even the King in Prussia was accountable to.

„You‘ve given Seckendorff only reason to think of you as an enemy,“ Katte pointed out, „and that‘s what he must have told his master. Besides, do you really think the Emperor, who does not owe you anything, would do more for you than your uncle?“

„I think that my uncle will not do anything other than possibly write a letter my father will ignore. I think Fritz deserves more. I think he deserves someone, anyone, to take my father to task and tell him that his son‘s blood cries out for vengeance. I think the Emperor is the only one able to do it in a way that counts. And I think that if I don‘t at least try, I shall never forgive myself.“

She was trying to convince herself as much as him. There had to be something she could do. Otherwise, there was no sense to her continued existence. No point. If she had died, and Fritz had lived, he’d still have become King one day. She’d never be Queen now, not of England, nor of any other realm. She would never marry, for princesses without a dowry were of no use to anyone, even if they still had their reputation. But there was still one thing she could accomplish.

Katte had always been cleanly shaven, but not anymore. She could see the dark stubble on his cheek as he leaned forward.

„And what do you want me to do? Escort you to Vienna?“

Wilhelmine shook her head. „I do need an escort to Vienna,“ she admitted. „It does not have to be you. But you see, if the Emperor grants me an audience, and _if_ he takes me seriously, I must be able to tell him more than „I was told this by Lieutenant Katte, who was told by an officer who was supposed to arrest him and thus cannot be named, and neither of them was present when my father murdered my brother“. I must be able to name at least one witness willing to testify to what has happened.“

“In order to find such a witness for you,” Katte said slowly, “I would have to go back to Prussia. Where I am now wanted for desertion, and for high treason. You really do want me dead, don’t you?”

She couldn’t tell whether he was making a bitter joke or was being serious. Perhaps a bit of both. Once upon a time, she had excelled at barbed, layered conversation, where every second word was irony, but not now.

“No, I don’t. And you don’t have to go back. You could write letters, persuade someone who was with” – she could not say “my father” – “the King at that time to come to Vienna. The officer who warned you in time – if he was willing to do that, who knows what he might risk? But you must find someone.” If she was not already sitting, she would have knelt down, pride be damned. “I will beg if you want me to.”

“It probably means nothing to you, but I, too, have left family behind. They will live with my disgrace in any event. If I can be blamed for any more desertions, who knows what the King might do to them?”

Dimly, she recalled that his own father was a well-respected officer who had even been invited to her father’s hunts, now and then. A week ago, she would have replied that her father was a hard man, but not given to take out his rage on the innocent. Unless, of course, they were members of his own family. That her father prided himself on being a good Christian, and would not make a father, a brother, a cousin pay for Katte’s offense. Now, she was no longer sure of anything her father might or might not do. But the truth, the terrible truth was that she did not care. Not enough. Not compared with getting what she needed to avenge her brother.  
She looked at Katte. “You said you would have died for him with joy in your heart.”

He returned her gaze. Slowly, he stretched out his left hand across the table, tracing the outlines of her chin. Wilhelmine and Fritz didn‘t share more than a general family resemblance; her face was longer and more oval, for starters, and her eyes were more green than blue. But you couldn‘t see that in the dim light of the tavern, and the wig, the male clothing did its share to disguise the differences and heighten the shared qualities; she became aware of this more and more the longer he regarded her as if he wanted to carve away all that was not her brother.

Abruptly, he let go. „Well, then,“ Katte said, and in a voice laced with anger, affection and mockery, he quoted one of the many mottos of her House. „Into dust with all the enemies of Brandenburg!“

* * *

VII.

The fourth commandment said that you should love father and mother, and honor them both. It did not say anything about what you should do if one parent regarded any affection and respect shown to the other as a betrayal. Still, Wilhelmine had loved her father as a child, when he had been fighting for the Emperor and not been in her company very often. After all, he was her father, just a little below God Amighty in the estimation of everyone who wasn’t her mother. She‘d started to write letters to him when she was five, proud to prove that she might be a girl, and thus as his eldest child a disappointment, but she was still working hard and proving herself a good student. When he‘d replied, almost two years later, it hadn‘t been in letters to her, but to her three years younger brother, who couldn‘t even read. She‘d been crushed, and furious.

_„I am very hurt that you have done my brother the honor of writing to him whereas I, who have written 100 000 letters to you, have never received a single one from you in return. I know very well that my brother deserves more acknowledgement as he is a boy, but it is not my fault that I am not, and I am my dear Papa‘s daughter, too, and I love him. I have been told that my dear Papa only writes to officers, and if this is true, I would like to have a military rank as well. Mademoiselle Leti says I could be a good captain of dragoons, if my dear Papa would accept one who wears a dress, but I believe she is making fun of me when she says this.“_

Wilhelmine was remembering this, along with a lot of other things, as she made her way south, through any territory that did not owe obedience to Prussia, financed with her cousins‘ money. They‘d been rather obviously relieved when she‘d suggested she should leave, be someone else‘s problem, and had been willing to be generous to hasten her departure. Good. She needed the money. If she arrived in Vienna as a beggar, they wouldn‘t let her anywhere near anyone of importance, let alone the Emperor. If Seckendorff was anything to go buy, bribery rates at the imperial court were high.

Katte, who‘d passed through Vienna while making his Grand Tour several years ago, had given her some names, had listed a few places, but that was mostly so they could remain in contact, if he found what and whom she wanted. He did not know any of the high ranking courtiers, or of the Imperial Family.

She didn‘t travel alone. With her was the former ambassador‘s niece, that niece‘s maid, and an officer somehow related to the current ambassador, married to the niece of the former one, and there to protect them both. „Your mother would never forgive me if I were to let you travel unprotected,“ Wilhelmine‘s old acquaintance had declared.

Her mother would not forgive him for helping her at all, Wilhelmine thought. She could not get „it should have been you“ out of her head. Maybe she was unjust. Her mother had just received the most terrible news any mother could hear. Sophia Dorothea had not known what she was saying.

_If you as much as consider marrying the Margrave of Ansbach, the Margrave of Schwedt or any of the boors your father has suggested, I shall not speak to you again. You will no longer be my daughter. Queen of England, that is to be your fate, and if you are not able to fight for it, if you give in too early, you are nothing at all._

That had been said in a quiet hour, alone. Her mother had known exactly what she was saying then.

As opposed to most of the courtiers in Hannover, her traveling companions were actually English, not citizens of Lower Saxonia, and delighted to discover Wihelmine spoke their language. In fact, she was fluent in it, all in preparation for a marriage that would never take place. And even if it had done, her cousin had been born and raised in Hannover. English was a foreign tongue to him as well.

 _I bet you are the better speaker_ , Fritz had jested, and she‘d laughed and thought it did not matter, nothing did, as long as they would still be together. That was the one good thing about her mother‘s marriage plans. They were to marry siblings, and thus would end up in the same country, far, far away from either of their parents. Free. At least for a while.

Where was he now? Had they brought his corpse back to Berlin, or had he been buried where he died? And where was _he_ , Fritz, her brother? They‘d both become dismissive of their father‘s faith. _Who would choose to be a good Christian if_ he is one? Fritz had said after being beaten for daring to read French philosophy, and she‘d agreed. But that had been when she had thought they would both live forever.

  
_Don‘t you dare. Don‘t you pray for me. Don‘t give him that victory, too. Avenge me instead_ , she imagined her brother saying, but knew it might be as convenient a comforting fancy as any ritual ever spoken in a church.

* * *

VIII.

They were only another week from Vienna, according to the coachman, when Captain Pryce announced the inn where they would be staying was already occupied by a prince and his escort, but that said prince was ready to share rooms with him, enabling the ladies to share another and the rest of their respective people to share what was left, if they did him the courtesy of dining with him.

„A prince, really?“ Caroline the former ambassador‘s niece thrilled.

„A duke, really,“ her husband replied indulgently. „The young Duke of Lorraine. He‘s travelling in the opposite direction, having started his Grand Tour.“

Wilhelmine was less inclined to be impressed by random nobles, and would have liked some peace and quiet to recover from yet another day on the road, but then Pryce mentioned that this man did, in fact, just come from the Viennese court, so she declared herself to be in favour of this plan as well. The Duke of Lorraine turned out to be a young man, true enough, and one who had that easy, charming manner she had so resented in Katte when she‘d noticed how taken with it her brother was. A jealous child, Katte had called her, and there was truth in that. She‘d told herself back then it was simply that she didn‘t want her brother to be exposed to bad influence, but having spent weeks and weeks of travel with little distraction other than Caroline Pryce‘s chatter from pondering the past, she had to admit that the truth of the matter was that she‘d have resented anyone taking that much of her brother‘s attention who was not her. They had been all the other had to love and be loved by for so long that realising this was no longer true for Fritz had been a shock, and not a pleasant one.

  
As if to belatedly apologize to her brother and Katte, Wilhelmine tried to be as gracious as she could to the Duke, and discovered he was, in fact, easy to talk to. He even turned out to be some remote relation through his maternal grandmother, Liselotte of the Palatinate. Upon discovering Wilhelmine‘s true identity through the indiscreet Caroline Pryce who thought nothing of dispensing with the incognito of „the Countess Zollern“, his face grew sober.

„My condolences,“ he said. „I lost my older brother some years back, and I still wake from dreams where he lives.“

Ever since Katte’s „he is dead“, no comment on her brother’s death had managed to breach the wall she’d built around her heart. These condolences were the first to feel as if they sprang from a well that carried more than platitudes with it. Abruptly, she decided to dispense with platitudes herself.

„So news of my brother‘s death has reached Vienna,“ Wilhelmine said. „Might I enquire in which form?“

„There are wild tales,“ the young Duke, whose first names had been given as "Franz Stephan", replied cautiously, „but then, there always are when great ones die.“

Wilhelmine took a deep breath. „My brother was not great, Your Grace. He would have been, I am convinced of it. But he died before he could be anything but a murdered boy, abused and murdered by the very hand that gave him life!“

She heard Caroline Pryce make a shocked noise. However the former ambassador had phrased it to his niece, it must have made the whole affair sound less sordid. But Wilhelmine was out of Patience with anyone‘s finer feelings, including her own. The furies did not drive their prey to madness by using kindness and tact, and they were the only women no one had ever been able to stop reaching their goal. She could not become anything less if she was to succeed.

„Then I am doubly sorry,“ Franz Stephan of Lorraine said, and because he did not add any qualifications, or protests to her choice of words, something in her wanted to believe he might mean it. She decided to go further.

  
"I hope to speak to the Emperor on this matter, but as of yet, I lack an introduction. If you are well regarded at his court, might I trouble you to write one for me, cousin?"

The Duke had dark eyes that reminded her of Katte - again. She tried not to imagine Katte captured, or just deciding he wanted to spend the rest of his life far, far away from any Hohenzollern and going to the Netherlands or England after all. No. Whatever else was true, Katte had loved Fritz. Did love him, for love did not end when life did. He would find her a witness.

"I might," Franz Stephan of Lorraince said slowly. "But let me offer some advice as to the person this letter should be directed to. The Emperor has some fondness for me, it is true. Yet were I to recommend a lady to his attention, even an exalted one like yourself, Your Highness, he might be distracted from the matter at hand by drawing some...unfortunate...conclusions. Which, as I freely admit, could be as bad for me as it could be for your desire to get an audience, for I have certain hopes that touch on the Emperor's regard for my character."

"So you will not help", she interrupted, cursing herself for a fool for getting her hopes up. This man was a stranger, and she could do nothing for him. Why should he help her?

"I did not say that. Only that my letter of recommendation should not be addressed to the Emperor himself. Instead, I would like to write on your behalf to a lady I hold in the highest esteem, and who, if she takes up your cause, will not just get you an audience with the Emperor but possibly decide to personally challenge your father on your behalf." He smiled; there was affection in his eyes, and not a little admiration. "She is quite capable of it, trust me on this."

Considering what he had said earlier about not wishing to be compromised by pleading a lady's case to the Emperor, Wilhelmine assumed this mysterious woman would have to be an ancient noblewoman whose relationship with him could not be misconstrued. She hoped he didn't mean the Empress. Even in Prussia, there had been gossip that the Empress, who had not been able to provide her husband with a son, had tried every kind of fertility inducing treatment for many years and had ended up consuming mostly those containing a lot of alcohol. But if even if it was, she could not afford to be choosy in her choice of allies. Not if she wanted to succeed.

"Then I shall trust you," she returned with her best winning smile.

The letter she held in her hand not an hour later was addressed to Her Most Serene Highness, the Archduchess Maria Theresia.

* * *

IX.

The archduchess, as it turned out, was to be found praying at St. Augustine, where the hearts of various dead Habsburgs were kept in a crypt. Just the hearts, as Caroline Pryce, tittering, had informed Wihelmine before they parted ways; the bodies as well as other innards were kept separately in other crypts.

In another lifetime, Wilhelmine would have laughed about the Popish grotesquery. As it was, she was simply grateful to meet the lady in quiet circumstances and hand over her letter. When she saw her, Wilhelmine's heart fell, for far from some older, powerful member of the Habsburg family, Franz Stephan's correspondant turned out to be a slip of a girl, evidently one of the two imperial daughters, not older than Wilhelmine's younger sister Friederike Luise, who'd just turned sixteen.

Then again, Friederike Luise had been married last year, and had managed to get away with telling their father he was being unjust without being hit even once.

The Archduchess accepted her letter without blinking, but she also hid it within the coat she was wearing instead of reading it and thereafter ignored Wilhelmine, instead praying an entire rosary without interruption. Wilhelmine tried to recall the last musical score she'd had had a chance to play, note by note, to pass the time. To her surprise, it worked. It worked so well that when the archduchess touched her on her shoulder, she flinched, for she had not noticed the girl approaching.

"Come with me," Maria Theresia murmured, and while turning away, pressed a handkerchief in Wilhelmine's hand. Only then did Wilhelmine realise that her face was wet. All those tears that had refused to come ever since Katte told her of her brother's death; why would they now appear, conjured up by the mere memory of music? The world was mad.

She was still furiously blinking away tears when sitting in a tiny salon opposite the Emperor's older daughter, who, it appeared, considered herself secretly engaged to the Duke of Lorraine.

"I know little of Prussia," Maria Theresia said in a clear, pleasant voice, her French smooth and elegant. "But I have heard rumors of the prince your brother's death. One spread by the Prussian ambassador himself. He said that your brother, caught in his scheme of desertion, grew mad, attacking your father, and your father but defended himself. The ambassador called your father a grieving David for a most thankless Absalom."

Nothing could have dried Wilhelmine's tears faster.

"Absalom was loved first," she said. "And it was not David's hand that slew him."

The girl's blue eyes regarded her intently. "If you were not present, my lady, how would you know?"

This, exactly this, was why she needed testimony better than a word of mouth. Maria Theresia's objection had not been unexpected, and yet Wilhelmine suddenly resented her fiercely; this princess who had grown up in splendour and safety, never having had to hide anything more serious than some youthful romance.

"I know," she said harshly, "because my brother was half the weight of my father. I know because there were a dozen times and more over the years when my father kicked him, hit him, called him villain and much worse, not in secret, but in front of many others, and my poor brother could do nothing but protest his honour. I know because I personally have heard my father declare that if his own father had treated him thus, he'd have blown his brains out; even my brother's refusal to commit the mortal sin of suicide was held against him!"

It came out faster and faster, all she'd never considered herself capable of speak about to anyone who had not witnessed it herself; she'd have been too ashamed to, wondering as she'd done through all the years whether or not somehow, there was something wrong with them, with all of them; whether they truly were godless children, or her father an unnatural father, or whether both were true. But with every word, the shame burned away, and what was left was just molten rage. She found herself breathing hard. Her forehead was covered with sweat, and there was bile in her mouth. Again.

"I know," Wilhelmine said. "I know."

For the second time, she felt Maria Theresia pressing a handkerchief in her hand. "Then I can help you," the girl said.

* * *

X.

As it turned out, there was precedent, even if one had to go back several centuries to find it. What Wilhelmine originally had in mind had been to petition solely to the Emperor for justice. Maria Theresia, however little she knew about Prussia, had been well taught in the history of the Holy Roman Empire, and she told Wilhelmine that five and a half centuries ago, when the Empire was going through a time of internal strife, King Philip of Swabia had been murdered before he could gain the Imperial throne. His daughter Beatrice had petitioned not just the next Emperor but the Diet at Frankfurt which had been called for just that purpose, and justice had been done, not just to the murderer of the dead Philip but also those who'd known about his plan and helped him after declared guilty and hunted down.

"Your brother," Maria Theresia declared, "did not just belong to your family. As Crown Prince in Prussia and future Prince Elector of the Holy Roman Empire, he was also a peer of the realm, and by causing his death, your father directly offended against the Emperor's law and prerogative. That is enough cause for a Diet to be called."

"In medieval times, perhaps," Wilhelmine said doubtfully, feeling a perverse urge to play devil's advocate. "But my father, murderous or not, is still your father's useful ally. Would not your father's advisors tell him to ignore my father's deeds in order not to risk such a vassal? They were willing to pay my father's courtiers a lot of money over the years to keep him looking at Vienna, not Hannover and London for his first loyalty."

Maria Theresia made a demure face, belied by the sparkle of her eyes. "Well, I know nothing of politics. But do you not have a younger brother who is the new crown prince?"

Wilhelmine nodded, thinking of little August Wilhelm with a pang, who at eight years old was now to carry that burden.

"If your father was to be proclaimed unfit for his throne," Maria Theresia continued, "a regency would have to be declared. I dare say whoever became regent would look to the Imperial Throne for guidance in such circumstances. And this would certainly please my father's councillors."

If this was Maria Theresia knowing nothing of politics, Wilhelmine thought, the prospect of her learning more about them might result in someone many would learn to fear. For a moment, she believed such a thing was possible, and there was a strange exultation in the thought, despite it meaning further dependency of the country Wilhelmine still thought of as hers on that creaky old construction, the Holy Roman Empire. In the next, she told herself to be sensible. It would not happen. The Emperor would still prefer to keep Friedrich Wilhelm as his loyal vassal. But what would and could happen was this: a public trial, shaming her father to the bone.

She knew her father. Had heard all the lectures about honour, how a man's reputation was his life. If all those tales painting him as a raging tyrant to his family were told in front of every peer of the realm, if, God willing, even one of his own officers testified that the blood of his son was on his hands, why, then even a pronouncement declaring him innocent after all would not wash the memory away. He would feel horribly disgraced. Would not be able to feel any pride in anything again.

It was not perfect, but if she could achieve this much, it would be the beginning of justice.

* * *

XI.

Frankfurt, free city of the Holy Roman Empire, was not just the traditional place for Imperial coronations, but of the Diet: parliament, as Wilhemine's lessons in English had called it. It was called together on the rarest of occasions.

She'd gone to every person whose Name Katte had given her in Vienna and left a letter there for him, telling him to go to Frankfurt with whoever he had managed to persuade to tell the truth, and even to come there if there was none, for the Diet would be the last time her brother's name would be spoken of in public, would count for something, and all who loved him and were free to be so should be there.

When Maria Theresia's governess, the Baroness Fuchs, told Wilhelmine a Prussian officer wished to talk to her in the lord mayor's house where the Emperor's daughter and her ladies had been offered quarters, she felt for the first time in a long while something like gladness. Katte was there, and they would make peace now; would be able to grieve Fritz together, not against each other. Would achieve justice for him now.

But the man waiting for her outside the mayor's home was not Katte, was not a simple Lieutenant. He was a Generalmajor, and she'd know him anywhere: The General War Minister of Prussia, her father's best friend, if there was such a thing, her mother's fiercest enemy: Grumbkow.

"Princess," he said, mocking her with a bow, "it is good to see you again. I've come to take you home."

"I have no home now," she replied, her pulse racing, "save for that bit of earth on which my brother has been buried. That is the only land I lay claim to."

She had no idea whether her mother's accusation that Grumbkow and Seckendorff had once plotted to kill her had been true or just another of Sophia Dorothea's suspicions, born by distrust more than fact. But she believed him entirely capable of it.

"And what about the man who owns your heart?" Grumbkow asked. "At least one would have to assume he does, seeing what he carries with him." Slowly, he pulled out from his vest what first looked like a tobacco box. Then he snapped it open. With a sinking heart, Wilhelmine recognized the double miniature portrait of Fritz and herself.

"I don't know to whom you refer," Wilhelmine said, forcing herself to sound as indifferent as possible. Show vulnerability in front of a creature like Grumbkow was like waving bloody meat in front of a starving dog. "I would, however, prefer it if you did not keep the image of my dear brother with you. It ill becomes one who consorts with his murderer. Hand it over to me."

He shrugged, and actually gave her the double miniature. "It's served its purpose, so why not? Let me be clear, though. You will not say a single thing against your father in front of the Diet. This whole affair has been a sorry business, but so far the damage to our Kingdom and its sovereign has not been irreversible. You will claim that news of your brother's madness in attacking his father has driven you out of your mind with grief. And then you will come home with me. If you do not, why then you only have yourself to blame if Lieutenant Katte gets hanged, drawn and quartered. After all, he won't just be punished for desertion. He will be punished for violating the princess and the prince both."

Wilhelmine stared at him. "What?" she asked, and repeated like a simpleton, "what?"

"Come now. Your royal father may be, shall we say, somewhat innocent in these matters, but I would be very surprised if the three of you had not ended up in bed together. "

For a moment, she saw white. This must be how her father felt before he struck, nothing but the heat of rage, and the desire to annihilate with it. It was an incredible effort to swallow it down.

"If Lieutenant Katte dies, dies in whichever manner," she said, "even from a cold in prison, then be assured: you will die a far worse death. I swear to you as a princess of the House of Brandenburg, and as my parents' daughter. And I will tell the truth."

She turned, and got back inside, head held high. This she managed to keep up until the mayor's servants had closed the door behind her. Then she broke down.

Words, words, she had nothing but words. If Katte died, his blood would be on her hands, like her brother's was on her father's. If he died, she would have killed the man her brother had loved, and Fritz had loved him, without a doubt. If he died, then it would be because he had been giving everything to help her. For Fritz. She owed him better than this. She had to save him, pride be damned. And truly, whatever her father would do to her once Grumbkow had returned her to his power, could it be worse than what had happened in the past? Beating, shoutings, it was all bearable and not worth a loyal man's life.

Was justice? There was the rub of it. If she remained silent in front of the Diet, if she recanted, painted herself as a madwoman or as a liar, exculpating her father, then her brother's murder would forever stand. Even his memory would be trampled on. Another Absalom indeed. And what of her siblings? Could a father driven to murder once truly be trusted to be gentler with his remaining children once they, too, started to defy him, if he knew there was no one and nothing holding him to account?

Wilhelmine did not know what she should do, and unlike Maria Theresia, she did not believe in prayer as a way to clear her mind. Her hand clenched around the portraits till the metal cut into her skin. Then she opened her fist again. There they were, together, as they never would be again.

"What would you do," she asked out loud, "what would you have me do?"

He didn't, couldn't, wouldn't answer, but with the knowledge gained through eighteen years at his side, she knew there could be but one reply.

* * *

XII.

After the Westphalian Peace had ended thirty years of war a century ago, the Diet had taken place, if it did, in Regensburg, until the Plague had haunted that city more than a decade ago. Augsburg had been a temporary seat. For this particular matter, though, the Diet had been called together in the city that prided itself on being the only one where Emperors were crowned for centuries: Frankfurt. There were no bright colors now, though, as there were for a coronation. All the princes that had come from the various German principalities were dressed in black velvet, a true pride of princely ravens, presiding over what some regarded as a distasteful family affair turned public scandal, and others as a most outrageous injustice. Whether towards a dead prince or his living father, a famously Christian King, was hotly debated even now; one could hear the murmurs everywhere.

  
There were wildly inconsistent rumours flying about. Some claimed the Princess Wilhelmine, instead of formally petitioning the Emperor in front of all the princes of the realm, would confess to having lied out of grief for her unfortunate brother. Others claimed to know she would not even appear, but some other witnesses would, though whether to testify for or against the King in Prussia, no one was sure about.

As for the King in Prussia, only the second of that title, he could be seen making his way through the rows of people and into the cathedral where the Diet was to take place, the very one usually employed when there was a vote for the Imperial Throne to conduct. He did not wear black velvet, like the rest; he wore a Prussian uniform, and that was that. But then, he'd always been famous as the one German prince who scorned splendour and magnificence in favour of modesty and thriftiness. There were no mistresses at his court, and no favourites of any type. A model Christian King, so it was said. Could he really be guilty of killing his son? Was it not far more likely that said son had raised his hand against his father? One just had to look at Friedrich Wilhelm now, barely able to walk, his arms and legs swollen from what looked like dropsy. How heartless did a child have to be, to drag such a parent in front of everyone with a monstrous accusation?

There were a lot of other Prussians in uniform, too, of various ranks. This was their King whose fate would be debated, and while there was doubt anything would happen even in the event of a declaration of his guilt that would be comparable to an imprisonment, all these military presences were starting to make people feel uncomfortable. The well known jest that Prussia was not a state with an army but an army with a state was no longer quite so funny, people said, eyeing all the Prussian blue. What if there would be war again in the Empire, as there had been just a century ago, thirty bitter years of it, Catholics against Protestants, with nearly two thirds of all German speaking folk dead afterwards?

There would of course be no women present, other than the princess, if she did appear, so people were on the lookout for any female entering the cathedral. At last, they were satisfied, and confused at the same time, for there was not one female figure entering the cathedral, but two. The other one was quickly identified as the Archduchess Maria Theresia, who had gained permission to attend the Diet by the grace of her Father, the Emperor. As the Emperor still had no son, people were curious about her, too; her future husband, after all, might well become the next Emperor if her father's attempt to convince the other German princes to accept this were to succeed. For no woman could rule in Salic lands. Perhaps, people said, this was another reason why the Archduchess was here; to be presented to the future monarch, whoever he might be.

The Prussian Princess wore black like everyone else except for the Prussians; however, to everyone's amazement she did not wear a wig. Her hair turned out to be of a light brown colour, and she wore it openly; the more educated among the attendants pointed out that this was what mourners in the ancient world were supposed to have done. The rest of the onlookers felt more reminded of the condemned walking towards their execution; they, too, had to discard any adornments, to free the way for the blade that severed their heads from their bodies.

Those who managed to get inside the cathedral had to wait through a lengthy opening ceremony until at last the Princess approached the throne, performing the genuflection the Emperor insisted on three times. Then she spoke.

"Most Serene Highness and princes of this realm, I come to seek justice, not for one man, but two. My brother Friedrich, Crown Prince in Prussia, was most cruelly slain; this is what brought me to you in the first place. But now I have learned that his loyal friend, who only sought to bring a witness to this outrage before the Emperor's majesty, was put in chains for this, to prevent testimony. I therefore most humbly plead for Your Majesty to grant him life as well. His name is Hans Herrmann von Katte, and the General War Minister of Prussia himself has told me that he was to die unless I abstain from my suit."

This caused an uproar far greater than anything anyone had expected. Those who knew who the General War Minister of Prussia was looked at Grumbkow, who sat near his King in the church pews that had been converted to seats for the Diet. Friedrich Wilhelm shouted something at him, but the noise was too loud for anyone to understand what was said. Grumbkow repeatedly shook his head; his lips were moving. When at last there was some quietness again, the King, though it was not his turn yet, said loudly in the Emperor's direction: "The man Katte is a deserter. That is all. What prince is not allowed to deal with deserters from his army? "

"A prince who has broken the most sacred of laws, and thus forfended loyalty," a new voice said, and one of the many high ranking officers in Prussian uniform stepped forward. He looked at least six decades old, if not seven, with a weathered face, and was wearing an old fashioned periwig. "I would never have thought this day would come. Even when Lieutenant Katte approached me, I was still hesitant, despite all that I had seen. I thought that my sovereign regretted his deed, had been punished enough by the guilt he suffered; I thought of all he'd done for my country through many years. To hear now that the Princess has been threatened, that military justice has been perverted to silence truth - this made me realise I must speak that truth. Most Serene Highness, Princes, I am Generalmajor Konrad Heinrich von der Mosel, governor of Wesel. It was my house that Crown Prince Friedrich was brought in to when the King his father had arrested him for his attempted flight. The Prince was weaponless; he could not defend himself, other than through words. And with my own eyes, I saw his father the King draw and run him through. I tried to stop it, but I was not fast enough." Taking one more step towards the middle of the church, where the Princess stood, he added: "Your brother died quickly. I have seen many men die, but his blood I shall feel on my hands till death comes for me as well."

"It is not you who caused his blood to flow," she replied, and at last, for the first time, looked directly at her father. "Not then, and not all the times before, when he did not die but suffered, and was told he was to blame for not taking his own life."

This time, pandaemonium reigned for what felt like an eternity. When at last silence returned to the assembly, the King spoke for a second time. He appeared grey faced; his swollen body shaken by convulsions, and yet he rose, until he stood on his feet.

"I have sinned, it is true. That guilt is there, and I must bear it. But I swear that all I have ever wanted was to make my son into a good Christian, worthy of the crown. He did not have a good character, and he who spares the rod spoils the child. I did not want his death, save for a moment of ungodly anger, and that was caused by his betrayal. Look now, look at my daughter. They are alike in faithlessness, my two oldest children. She does not act in anger, no. She acts in malice and intent, and most unnaturally, too. What kind of child turns against him who gave her life? What kind of child plots her father's death? For this, my death, is the sentence a trial like this must result in, if you truly believe me guilty of murder." He addressed her directly now. "How could you wish this? Where is the love and obedience you owe me, Wilhelmine? "

The princess looked at him, and in the crowded church, you could have heard a pin drop.

Then she said: "I am sorry, Father. But it is better for you to die than for justice to leave this world."

* * *

XIII.

"Well," Katte said, "I must admit there was more than one time I never thought to see the light of day again."

He had been pardoned by the Queen Regent Sophia Dorothea, acting for her son August Wilhelm, King in Prussia after the death of his father Friedrich Wilhelm of a stroke in Frankfurt. To no one's surprise, though, he had left Prussia at once.

"I was not sure you would, either," Wilhelmine said. "Or that you would wish to see me if you did." She had not returned to Prussia; considering that she had as good as caused her father's stroke, and had exposed the worst secrets of the House of Brandenburg in front of the whole Empire, she doubted she would be welcome there. Sophia Dorothea had hated her husband, and adored her son, true. But her mother had always hated public disgrace almost as much. "You almost died because of me."

"I almost died because I wanted justice for your brother as much as you did," Katte said. "I knew the risks when I went back. And frankly, you did save my life. After you exposed Grumbkow's threat in public, they had little choice but to let me go." He looked more haggard than the last time she'd seen him, and tired, but also oddly at peace. "Your brother always said you were the smartest person he knew."

It still hurt, hearing him say that, but it provided a balm as well. She still dreamt of Fritz, and if what the Duke of Lorraine had said about his own brother held true, she probably always would. But she could sleep at night now.

She did not dream of her father.

"What will you do now, Your Highness? Will you remain in Vienna? I have heard you have made quite a friend of the young Archduchess."

It was something she had never wondered about before Frankfurt, simply because there had been no future she cared about beyond achieving justice for Fritz. But now there it was: a future. A life. And while she had come to care about Maria Theresia as well, she didn't like the prospect of being a guest of charity here any more than she had liked it in Hannover.

"When my brother," she began, and stopped, but the sentence wanted to be said, "when we dreamt of a life free of any obligation, as children, we wanted to go to France, and then to Italy. I thought I might go now in his stead."

She was no longer lacking funds; her father's will, which he had not changed after her brother's death and her own flight, had left 30 000 Reichstaler to each of his daughters. The money would eventually run out, true. But for the first time in her life, she had both money and freedom.

"And you, Lieutenant? What will you do?"

He regarded her thoughtfully. "If that is either a veiled invitation to come with you or on the contrary a hint to stay far away, you will have to be more explicit, Your Highness. I cannot read you like a book, you know. "  
Wilhelmine felt the blood rush into her cheeks. It was absurd, after everything, to still feel embarrassed, but there it was.

"I am safe now. You do not have to feel yourself bound to any promise you made. You did more than enough for me. But... I would welcome your company."

"Then you shall have it," he said, and his hands closed around hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Footnote: Crown Prince Friedrich tried to escape while travelling with his father Friedrich Wilhelm I. in the August of 1730 and was caught; when his father lunged at him with a sword at the house of General von der Mosel, the later managed to hold his sovereign back. Meanwhile, Katte in Berlin did indeed receive three hours warning by the officer supposed to arrest him, but for reasons still debated about tarried. Both Friedrich and he were put on trial for desertion; Wilhelmine in Berlin was locked up in her room for, as it turned out, almost a year. The war tribunal told Friedrich Wilhelm they wouldn't judge the crown prince and decided on imprisonment for Katte. Friedrich Wilhelm ended up overriding that sentence, ordering the death penalty for Katte, with Katte to be executed in front of the prince. The King wrote that the Lieutenant was to be told that "his Majesty was sorry, but that it was better for him to die than for justice to leave this world."
> 
> For some wonderful fanart for this story - Wilhelmine in the borrowed uniform - see [here](https://kattestrophe.tumblr.com/post/632318216388198400/even-more-18th-century-esque-sketches-of).


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